


For as Long as Thy Walls Stand

by r_grayjoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_wankfest, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_grayjoy/pseuds/r_grayjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ritual of blood, sweat, and semen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For as Long as Thy Walls Stand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_wankfest, May 2008.

  
**For as Long as Thy Walls Stand**   


The light of a hundred candles burned brightly, illuminating the Great Hall of the castle in a golden glow. Sweat beaded and dripped from Salazar's skin as he stirred the brew in the great, iron cauldron a final time before withdrawing the stirring rod and vanishing it. The time had come; after many hours, the ritual had reached its apogee at last. Salazar swept damp hair away from his face, closed his eyes, and took a long breath to ready himself.

Bringing his hands to his waist, Salazar untied the belt that held his robes closed and allowed the garments to slide from his shoulders and fall to the stone floor. The faintest of breezes drifted through the hall, cooling his flesh and setting the candle flames to flickering. Arms held out to his sides, palms open, Salazar spoke, "Hogwarts Castle, I call upon thee. Hear me and respond."

A current of raw magic rose up around Salazar and his organ began to lengthen between his legs. Salazar snaked one hand down to grasp himself lightly, and the runic symbols he had meticulously inscribed upon the floor and walls flared with a faint blue glow. The magic felt his purpose and was answering; this was well.

Slowly, Salazar began to stroke himself. He moved steadily, languidly, twisting fingers and wrist in time to the lazy thrum of magic that surrounded him. "I call upon thee," he intoned, "to defend thy rightful inhabitants from the forces that would do them harm."

Invisible tendrils flowed over Salazar's skin, their ghostly caresses urging him on. The pulse in the air quickened, and Salazar increased his pace to match it. He felt light, heady, drunk with primal power and desire. His voice was thick as he said, "I call upon thee to protect thy sons and daughters of the art for as long as thy walls stand."

The cadence of the ritual, the rhythm of the castle itself continued to rise in speed and intensity. Salazar's heart beat, his blood flowed, his staff throbbed with it. The runes shone and pulsed in time, and the candle flames danced with the rhythm, casting peculiar shadows across the hall. Magic grew tangible in the air and Salazar leaned into it, allowing it to support him when he felt as though he might collapse otherwise.

His hips bucking forward, his breath rasping in his throat, Salazar drew his hand over his cock again and again. Cries rose up in his chest, and he swallowed them down. The breeze had become a hot wind, whipping strands of his hair back and sending a tremor down his spine. The candle flames leapt and sputtered, and Salazar knew that he, that the spell couldn't last much longer.

Salazar tried to hold back, but the assault on his senses was too much. Mustering his concentration, he sucked in a breath and stepped nearer the cauldron. In a tone become far less steady, he gasped, "I give thee my blood, sweat, and semen. Let my purpose become thine." And with those words spoken, climax was abruptly upon him. With one final twist of his hand, Salazar spilled himself in hot spurts into the cauldron, his breath leaving him in a hoarse shout. The last of the candles flickered and blew out.

It took all of Salazar's considerable will not to slump to the ground, utterly spent. Yet he remained standing and watched as the potion began to glow white. With the last of his strength, Salazar surged forward and gave the cauldron a great shove, overturning it and spilling its contents across the floor of the Great Hall. "Let it be done!"

Instantly the stones began to drink of the spilled brew, as though the castle thirsted. White light ran through the cracks in the floor and up the walls, surrounding Salazar in a spider's web of illumination. Only then did Salazar allow himself to fall to his knees, head bowed. "It is done," he whispered.

"So I see. This is good news, Brother, but you look a fright."

The voice had come from the entrance to Salazar's right, but he didn't look up to see its owner. "It matters not."

"It matters to me," Godric said softly, then approached. "Here, let me assist you."

"I do not require your aid," Salazar replied, his pride stung at being seen in a moment of such weakness, yet he didn't attempt to rise from the floor.

"Salazar, many a time you have helped me to my bed after a long battle. Allow me to return the favor now."

There was a moment's pause, then Salazar said, "Very well. I shall allow thee to carry me, Godric. Just this once."

Draping Salazar's robes over his shoulders, Godric knelt down and hefted Salazar to his feet. Salazar leaned on Godric for support as they made their way through the faintly shimmering halls. He slept soundly that night, content in the knowledge that his work was good; that the castle's wards would stand true for as long as those with the talent resided within it.


End file.
